


Justices

by AsYouCommand (OminousHummingObelisk)



Series: Kibble & Bits & Bits & Bits [12]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alien anatomy, Blow Jobs, Bottom Megatron, Come Marking, Cunnilingus, Dominance/submission, Fanfic for a fanfic, Feeding Kink, Genital Injury, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Cannibalism, Mention of torture, Objectification, Other, Service Top Tarn, Sorry It Got Dark, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OminousHummingObelisk/pseuds/AsYouCommand
Summary: In which Damus lovingly serves the Cause by tending to his master's every need and want, even when he suffers for it.
Relationships: Damus|Tarn/Megatron
Series: Kibble & Bits & Bits & Bits [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/762441
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	Justices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spoon888](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Thorough](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172151) by [Spoon888](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888). 



> \- It happened again! [Spoon888's second Service Top Tarn fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172151) included this line where Tarn asked Megatron how he wanted it and I thought that implied that Megatron sometimes wanted it in lots of different ways.  
> \- This is just a fanfic of a fanfic, not a continuation or anything.

The doors hissed open and closed as Damus stepped through into the darkness of the audience hall, the optics and biolights of himself and his enthroned master providing the only light. He moved some of his perception to sensors, his instruments providing a clearer picture of how his lord was seated, cheek propped on a fist and his powerful body slumped. He did not raise his gaze to look at his servant, but Damus nonetheless approached the foot of the dais steps and knelt, his head bowed and one hand cupped lovingly around his brand. "Master, how may I serve?"

There was a long silence, then finally Megatron's low rumble. "I need it." 

Damus looked up at the throne, suspecting, from the darkness and his lord's brooding air, the answer to his question. "How?" 

"...Punish me." 

Damus remained as he was a moment more in case the order was rescinded, then exploded into action. He stormed up the steps and seized his lord behind the knees. Megatron startled as Damus dragged him out of the throne, back plating hammering against the edge of the metal seat as he was hauled downward. He snarled, his fingers failing to find a grip as Damus backed up, letting Megatron scrape across all the ridges of the stairway until he threw his victim to the floor. His leader growled, limbs gathering to lunge. 

Though Damus' strength was nearly equal to his lord's, both of them knew that Megatron's long experience in combat and the furious glory of his spark made him the superior warrior in every way. Damus mastered him only because Megatron permitted it, shoving uselessly as the tank gripped him by the edges of his breastplate, lifted him, and slammed him against the floor once, twice. The gunformer grunted as the back of his head clanged hard against the metal, dazing him. 

Damus loomed over his leader, planting a foot across Megatron's brand as he leaned down, his eyes blazing behind the Decepticon Cause that he wore on his face. "What did you do?" he hissed. " _What have you done to us?_ " Megatron's mouth opened and he struggled, speechless; Damus slapped him hard across the face, his claws raising beads of fuel in the cuts over his lord's cheek. 

"I failed them," Megatron whispered in agony. 

"Louder, glitch. Let them hear you." 

"I failed them!" 

Damus struck his other cheek, fingers curled inward so the cuts were twice as deep. " _More_ , glitch!" 

" _I failed them!_ " the fallen lord roared, suffering, sparks of fury and helplessness beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. "They trusted me, they believed in me, and I couldn't— I couldn't do anything." He squeezed his eyes closed and the sparks slipped free, hissing as they contacted the fuel leaking down from the wounds on his cheeks. "They're gone. I couldn't do anything at all." 

Damus lifted his foot from his lord's chest, grabbed him hard by the throat and slammed him against the floor one more time, then sat down on top of him. Megatron opened his eyes, staring wretchedly into the darkness around them until Damus leaned down to fill his vision. "I'm going to fuck you," the servant spat, as if the thought disgusted him. "I'm going to make you hurt for what you did. How could you dare? _How could you dare?_ " 

"I'm so sorry," Megatron said, begging for the lost to hear him. "I didn't—" 

"Oh, I'll _make_ you sorry," Damus promised him. His hand tightened around Megatron's throat, making him choke and writhe, clawing at Damus' flanks as his tormentor tore his mask free and leaned in to close that last distance. Their mouths slammed together and Megatron whimpered as Damus kissed him, growling in selfish pleasure as he sucked and gnawed at his lord's lips. His teeth cut into the soft flexmetal and Megatron tried to turn his head to escape the mauling; his servant grabbed him by the jaw and held him in place until he was satisfied, licking at the fuel smeared across their faces. Damus' eyes were wild with the vengeance that filled him as he replaced his mask and rose, leaving Megatron sprawled on the floor beneath him. 

The Cause stood with a foot on either side of his master's hips and folded his panels back. Despite his earlier revolted tone, his spike sprang free fully hard, as if it had been straining against its confinement. He wrapped a fist around it. milking it hard and fast. The room around them was lightless, but even so, they both felt how the shadow of that punishing instrument fell across the face of the condemned. 

"This is what you deserve," Damus snarled through gritted teeth as the first drops of fluid flicked from his tip and spattered across Megatron's armor. "This is what you are. You're a thing that belongs to us. You had a duty to us and you failed." 

Megatron wept in defeat, lying unresisting below the face of merciless justice. 

" _Ours!_ " Damus roared as the silver began to spray from him. Megatron closed his eyes and turned away only slightly, trying to face his punishment as the stream hit him in the face again and again, trailing down to paint his breastplate and the brand that he had betrayed. Damus' fist scrubbed his length, pulling the last spurts of fluid out of himself and sending them dribbling down across Megatron's biolights. "Yes, that's just how you should look," he gloated afterward, letting his softening spike hang free above the defiled form of his lord. 

He was still half-hard as he grabbed one of Megatron's shoulders and dumped him to one side, onto his front. "You don't deserve to look the Cause in the face when it fucks you," he said venomously. "Eyes on the floor, glitch. We don't want to see you when we're dirtying our spike in your hole." Megatron obediently shoved his nose against the cold metal with a soft sob, crushed by his unworthiness. 

Damus' claws dug furrows in Megatron's hips as he dragged the gunformer's backside into the air, propping it up on his lord's bent knees. His sharp fingers stabbed into the edges of Megatron's modesty plating and would have ripped it free if it hadn't pulled back for him. The valve behind it was only slightly unfurled, though it was clearly damp inside. Damus unceremoniously shoved two fingers in deep and Megatron cried out as the claws cut the protoform. "Look at this. _Look at this._ I don't think you want me to have this, glitch. Do you?" 

"Yes!" Megatron choked out against the floor, his commanding voice reduced to a frantic whine. "Please, I want you to have it!" 

"I don't think you do. I don't think you care enough." 

"Please! I do!" 

"I don't think you love us enough to give this to us, you selfish slag. Just like you didn't love them." 

" _No!_ " 

" _Then beg me, whore!_ " 

"Please! Please!" Megatron clawed at the floor so hard that his paint flaked against it, trying to shove himself back, to show how desperate he was to please the Cause with the pathetic sacrifice of his body. "Fuck me! Hurt me! Do anything you want! Let me have it!!" 

And Damus slammed his spike through the still-unready petals of his lord's valve, bruising the opening with the violence of it, heedless of the cries below him as he punished his master. Hard, hot ventilations poured out of him and down onto his victim as he let his head roll back and his eyes close, drowning himself in the tightness of the furled valve as he thrust harder and harder. The sobs against the floor continued as the ridges of his spike tore the protoform. Drops of fuel began to scatter across Megatron's inner thighs as he shook with the force of Damus' pleasure. Glowing streaks covered the tormentor's device. 

Damus' voice was ragged with exertion when he rasped, "What do you feel, glitch?" 

" _I love you!_ " Megatron screamed. 

" _What do you want from us?_ " 

" _Forgive me!_ " He pushed himself even harder against his servant as Damus bent forward over his back and roared as he released himself inside his master, filling up the brutalized valve until pink-tinted silver overflowed it and started trickling to the floor between Megatron's knees. He snarled with cruel satisfaction and kept humping the wounded opening until he had poured the last drop inside. Panting, he remained buried in the other's body until it pleased him to withdraw. He wiped his spent spike off across Megatron's rump. 

And then he stepped away silently, leaving his lord alone in the dark, his face against the floor and his aft offered up to the Cause and dripping in the wake of its punishment. "Forgive me," Megatron begged again, and just as the pain of the abandonment became too great, a gentle hand took him by the shoulder and lifted him up, carefully returning him to his back. He laid helplessly where he had been put, feeling the hands carefully cleaning him and tending his wounds. The other person leaned down over his face and again he whispered, "Forgive me." 

Damus gently kissed his master's torn lips and began applying mesh sealant to the holes. "Of course we forgive you," he said. "You're ours." 

* * *

In the wake of their great victory, Megatron had commanded the staff to leave their stations on the bridge of the flagship and summoned Damus to present himself before the command throne. The empty bridge was so large that Damus' steps echoed slightly as he approached, though his stride faltered when he noticed that Megatron had a leg draped over each arm of the seat, the slight trembling of his limbs suggesting what he'd been doing while waiting for his servant to arrive. 

Determined to remain professional, Damus rounded the steps of the dais and tried to keep his eyes on the ground as he knelt humbly, hand cradling his brand. Above him, Lord Megatron smiled out at the battlefield, the remnants of the Autobot fleet floating in ragged chunks against the stars, the fingers of one hand casually sliding in and out of his valve. Wet, rhythmic sounds passed over Damus' bowed head. He focused on maintaining every lock that he had on his modesty panels. This was the sort of thing that he imagined as he stroked himself every night, even the nights after his cable had been called to service - his lord, radiant in his victory, bared shamelessly and demanding satisfaction. Damus craved nothing more than the opportunity to show what an abject slave he was to his master's pleasure. 

He heard Megatron chuckle. "Perhaps you've guessed what I need from you." 

"How would you like it, Lord?" 

Megatron hummed, considering. "Hard," he decided. "Hard like a well-fought battle. I want to feel it long after it's done." Damus stood, taking full advantage of the permission to look at last. Oil dripped off Megatron's knuckles as he pulled his fingers free. "But first, lick me." 

He was at the top of the stairs and on his knees before he could even think about it, his mask in his subspace and his mouth on those perfect, fattened petals. Megatron sighed contentedly and absently stroked his servant's head as he looked out over the battlefield again. Damus hungrily suckled at every curve of protoform and pushed his face deep into its grip so he could run his tongue over the walls of the broad valve-channel. He worshiped his master, adoring the glory of his secret anatomy and smearing the oil across his cheeks like a sacrament. 

"This is how it should be," Megatron rumbled. "The galaxy conquered before me, humbled, with me taking my pleasure in defiance of its judgment." He pushed against Damus' forehead. "Let me up." 

The tank shuffled back on his knees and Megatron stood and remounted his throne backwards, one knee on each armrest and his hands firmly gripping the back. Damus admired how proudly his lord displayed his opening to the wreckage of his defeated enemies, imagining the eyes of thousands of dead and dying Autobots fixed against their will on the bridge windows, forced to watch as the one who had mastered them received service. His spike was in utter torment behind his panels. Finally his lord commanded, "Mount me," and Damus let himself free with a stifled moan. Fluid was already dripping from his tip, but he steeled himself - he could not allow himself to finish while his lord still needed him hard. 

He stood before the throne and wrapped his arms around his lord's waist. Long practice had him angling his hips just so, his spiketip catching on Megatron's rim with hardly any searching and sinking deep as both purred together. Then he obeyed the command and began to hammer himself against Megatron's valve with painful force. The firm petals provided some cushioning, as they were designed to do, but their bodies clanged together loudly nonetheless. Dents and chipped paint appeared in short order and Megatron roared _yes!_ Damus was overjoyed and pounded himself in even harder. 

Behind the clanging and his lord's pleased noises, he heard another set of panels transform away and saw one of Megatron's hands release the back of the throne and plunge down between his legs. The idea of Megatron stroking himself while Damus filled his valve made lust surge behind the servant's spike and he bit his lip hard to fight it back. 

Megatron leaned his forehead against the back of the throne, braced hard to withstand the force of Damus' thrusting, his hand yanking his spike mercilessly. Damus felt the way his field flexed and knew that this also was an act of conquering, this need to mark the throne - he would claim it with his spill, showing the galaxy that this was his place, here at the head of an unstoppable army as a tyrant who would never be deposed. Megatron was watching his hand on his own spike as he grew close, waiting for that moment, and then it came and he howled as his entire array overloaded at once, his valve pulling eagerly at Damus' length while he sprayed silver across the seat of the throne. Damus felt some of it spatter against his thighs as he stood behind his lord and tightened his arms, indulging in the embrace as he curled his hips inward and let go. The valve-petals curled hard, urging him to push deeper as he emptied himself with relief. 

Damus remained only long enough to come back to himself, then withdrew. Megatron accepted Damus' offered hand as he stepped down from the throne, his other hand still holding his spike. Wordlessly, he lifted the tip toward his servant, who gladly went to his knees again to lick up the drippings on its underside and on his lord's fingers. 

Megatron ran an approving hand across his head again and Damus' spark blazed with tenderness. Hungry for more approval, he looked up at his lord to ensure that he was being watched, then went down onto all fours and started licking up his lord's ejaculate from the seat of the throne. Megatron chuckled, his engine purring. 

"This is what you deserve," Damus gasped between long strokes of his tongue. "The universe on its knees. Worshiping you. Drinking down everything you give it. Needing your pleasure to live." Moaning against the slick metal, he pulled back his own valve panels, transformed his claws away, and rubbed frantically at his swollen opening until he came with a whimper, sucking down his lord's outpouring desperately. 

Megatron chuckled indulgently again, then pulled him away from his meal and shoved him lightly backward. Damus' armor protected him from damage as he fell back on the stairs, his treads stopping him halfway down. Megatron leaned down and grabbed his servant's still-extended spike, fist pumping along its length with an almost painful grip. Damus winced, but the knowledge that his lord wanted to use him again made him harden quickly. 

"I'm not done showing the universe what's in store for it yet," Megatron said, lowering himself down over Damus' hips. 

* * *

He knew what he was needed for when he received the wordless location note indicating his master's personal quarters. He worried, however, when he entered the room to find it entirely lightless. Did his lord need punishment again? "Master?" he asked, feeling a dim EM field somewhere in the room. 

"Damus." The voice was so soft and uncertain, barely recognizable as Megatron's. "I need you." 

"How would you like it, Lord?" 

He started when the field strengthened right in front of him and hands brushed against the sides of his mask. The fingers traced the lines of the brand, nearly trembling, and unsteady ventilations stirred the darkness. "Be kind to me," Megatron said sadly. Damus wanted to embrace him, but the fingers continued to caress his mask and he knew that his lord was addressing the Cause, not the mech before him. 

"I ask so much of you," Megatron said finally. His hands cupped the mask and he leaned in to press their foreheads together. By the light of his own optics, Damus could see his lord's tired expression and closed eyes. "I asked too much of you." 

"You ask nothing that we are not willing to give," Damus answered on behalf of all mecha who wore the brand. "Ask more. Let us serve." 

"The casualty reports from Dominion V came in this morning. So many millions. I can no longer know all their names." 

"Such is war." 

"Why would you fight for someone who so easily sends you to die?" 

"Love," Damus answered, unhesitating, knowing it to be true. 

"...Unthinking obedience is not love. How could they love me?" 

Damus put his arms around Megatron's shoulders. His lord's face moved to the side, sinking down against Damus' treads. The tank gently pushed against his lord, urging him to step backward toward the bed that he knew was there. Megatron let it happen, even sat down on the edge of the mattress, but when Damus tried to make him lay down he resisted and said, "I don't deserve comfort. Not when so many suffer because of me." 

Damus pushed more of his awareness into his alternative sensors and released the magnets holding the mask to his face so he could hand it to his lord. He watched as Megatron stroked it tenderly. "Lay down," he said. "Let me take care of you." Megatron resisted for a moment, but finally relented, lying curled on his side around the mask. Damus curled himself around his lord's back in turn, propped up on an elbow so he could look down and grieve over the uncertain expression on his lord's face. "No one could fail to love you," he whispered against Megatron's audial. "You are the brightest spark among us. Everyone wants to be in your light." 

Hesitantly, Megatron nuzzled against the mask. "I don't treat you like someone who loves you. You should be free of me. Maybe all of this was too much to ask—" 

" _Never_ ," Damus said firmly. The Cause could never be doubted, not even by the mech who had created it. Megatron _was_ the Cause, yet the Cause was also larger than him in the same way that Megatron himself was greater than any common mech. 

"It must be fear that makes you obey. Or ignorance, if you know nothing else, nothing better—" 

"Shhh," Damus brushed over his audial again. He reached down between their bodies and gently stroked his lord's valve panel from behind. "Let me take care of you," he said again. "Let us all take care of you. It is what we live for - to carry you, to carry your words and your vision, to love you so fiercely that all of us will gladly die for you. Let us show you how much we love you." 

Megatron made a soft, wounded sound and his panels folded back, baring his slowly-warming valve. Damus transformed his claws into round fingertips and gently slid one into the curled petals, tenderly massaging them from within. Megatron whimpered sadly and pressed his face against the mask again. "How could you want to? How could you, after what I do to all of you?" 

Damus kissed the side of his helm and slid his finger deeper, drawing out another moan. "We have such faith in what you're building that dying is nothing against it. We will live on within the Cause." Damus had, in truth, no idea what the MTOs believed about the Cause or their lord, but he could not have cared less. His master needed the love of his people and Damus would deliver it in the form of the Decepticons as they should be. "We want to live on in you," he whispered, lips brushing against his lord's helm. 

Megatron curled his legs in tighter, making his valve more easily reached. His petals were rapidly softening and oil welled up around Damus' fingers as he stroked two in and out of the hot depths. The warlord kissed the mouth-slit of the mask more eagerly than before. "Yes," he said to it. "I want that. I want you all to live in me." He purred softly and moved his upper thigh to bare himself further; the petals began to uncurl across his groin and Damus' cable began to heat behind his armor. "Oh, that's so good. You are all so good to me. I love you. I swear that I love you." 

Damus watched as Megatron bent over the mask, mouth caressing it again and again; he fantasized that his face was still inside of it to receive his master's love directly. But he was a vehicle now, a stand-in for all the millions of brave mecha who wanted to offer their lord peace and make love to him as one, and he could not permit himself any selfish desires. It was for every Decepticon that he released his spike and let the hard length rub against the outside of their master's valve, making him moan with want and suck at the mask with an open mouth, flicking his tongue across it. Megatron lifted his upper thigh, spreading himself, offering his emptiness to be filled by his followers. Damus reached down to lift himself into position and shifted his hips, sinking deep inside their lord with a long roll of his engine. 

"This is what you deserve," he gasped. "Millions of loving sparks thinking of you, caring for you, ready to fill you with all their strength, just like this—" 

"I need it," Megatron rumbled. One hand wrapped around the back of his thigh, keeping it lifted, and the other held the mask close. He spoke to it between kisses. "I need you all inside of me. Sometimes I feel so empty. I'm afraid that there's nothing left in me at all." 

"We believe in you," Damus moaned for their master, words becoming difficult as he continued to shove his hips against his lord's backside, making short, sharp thrusts into that perfect valve. "This is only to remind you of yourself. Your light fills us all just as we fill you." 

"I know. I believe you. I'm so sorry that I doubted you." Spark-tears were gathering at the corners of Megatron's eyes. "I feel it. I feel how much you all love me." 

Damus only managed a wordless sound of bliss, wrapping an arm around his lord's waist to pull him back harder onto his spike. Megatron hummed in response, nuzzling the mask again and slipping the tip of his tongue into its mouth-slit. "Fill me," he murmured. "I need to feel your faith inside of me. I need it so much." 

His servant could only obey, grinding hard into the open valve and crying out against the back of his master's shoulder as the love rushed out of him and into his precious lord in long, thick jets of silver. His release triggered Megatron's climax and his body milked Damus hard for his fluid as the warlord rubbed his face against the mask and whimpered with bliss. 

They laid there for a little while, ventilations still hot as the valve-petals began to curl in against Damus' softening spike. He left his arm around Megatron's waist, taking pleasure in the closeness as he basked in afterglow. His lord murmured softly to the mask cradled in his hands. "Could you say that again, Lord?" Damus asked. 

"I wish I could fuel from you," Megatron said. 

"Fuel from me?" 

"Fuel is health. Life. I'm so happy that you filled me like this...but I wish I could drink up all your love. Feel myself living on it. All my machinery, running because you love me." 

Damus' spike throbbed with interest. "I would do that for you, Master." 

"Show me how." 

Damus lifted himself up, pulling free of Megatron in the process. He hastily wiped his spike with a cloth from his subspace as he left the bed, unsure whether his lord would be shaken out of his dreaming state at the sight of his fluids on something intended to go in his mouth. He rounded the bed until he could reach down and gently extract the mask from Megatron's hands. Megatron's eyes had been closed as he cuddled against it; he made a confused noise as it departed, but by the time he looked up Damus had already put it back on and was again the embodiment of the Cause. His lord smiled up at him. 

Megatron's interest was the most powerful aphrodisiac that Damus knew; his afterglow had burned off entirely and been replaced with renewed eagerness. His spike jutted straight out, biolights gleaming along its length; he felt himself somehow hardening even more as Megatron's gaze fixed on it. 

"Come down from the bed," Damus said. "We have plenty to give." 

He reminded himself of his role, steeling himself against the wrongness of seeing his master kneeling before him as Megatron lowered himself to the floor beside the bed, still watching the mask as he reached for the spike. His eyes never left Damus' as he began to suck, the look on his face so painfully vulnerable, naked before any hint of rejection. He kept looking up, gaze always seeking the approval of his people, the body of his Cause, as he licked and sucked at them more confidently. He worked more and more of their length down his throat, head bobbing slowly, and Damus struggled to keep his tender look meeting that of his lord while suppressing all outward indications of how frantic he was getting. Receiving this kind of pleasure was a rare treat and he was being rapidly overcome, yet Megatron seemed to value this careful work of swallowing the Cause down to the root. 

He succeeded after a long, shy stretch of effort, lips kissing Damus' armor around the girth, mouth wide so that his teeth barely grazed the sensitive plating, the tip buried deep in his intake tube. It was hard for him to look up at the face of his people from that angle, but he clearly was still attempting it, wanting to see them pleased. The way he periodically swallowed around the spike was driving Damus absolutely insane. "Are you ready to be fed?" he asked, unable to keep his voice from shaking. The pressure of Megatron's teeth, top then bottom, indicated a nod around his erection. Damus gently held Megatron's head in place, still trying to meet his gaze as best he could, and made two shallow thrusts before erupting down his master's throat with a sharp _ah!_

Megatron made a surprised sound but stayed as he was held, swallowing steadily as Damus fueled him with long spurts of transfluid. The tank felt his climax ending, but only had to look down to see the top of his beloved's helm pressed against his belly before his lust returned. He made another handful of small thrusts and released himself again, hungrily imagining his spike filling his master to capacity so that he could go about the whole next day while living on a tankful of Damus' spill. Regardless of the appeal of that fantasy, his spike could not stir itself again after that and began to collapse into limpness, still deep in his master's throat. Megatron kept swallowing for a while, but when it became clear that the source of nourishment had dried up, he let it slide out of his mouth. He licked up a few drops still clinging to the tip, then sat back on his heels, still looking up at the mask. 

Damus let his spike retract and stroked Megatron's helm tentatively, unsure of the warlord's mood now that his desires had been satisfied. "How do you feel, Lord?" 

"Full. Healthy. Grateful." Their master's eyes were dim and sleepy, his smile pleasantly vacant. 

Damus carefully lifted him to his feet and guided him back onto the bed, where a few elaborate maneuvers ended in Megatron lying down and wrapped up in his covers with minimal disturbance to his drifting mind. "Sleep well, beloved." the servant said, tapping his mask against the side of Megatron's helm in an approximate kiss. 

He reached the door and then heard behind him: "Damus. Thank you. For everything." 

"You are always welcome, Master. Good night." The door slid closed behind him. 

* * *

"Please, my lord, could you explain this to me?" 

"Explain what?" Megatron had thankfully been alone on the observation deck when Damus had found him and remained turned away, gazing out at the stars that were his to conquer. 

The servant held out the datapad that contained his latest orders. "The Grindcore assignment." 

At that, Megatron faced him with a smile, though his eyes had the cold, fierce light that had grown increasingly common over the centuries as the times he spent in Damus' arms grew more rare. A vicious edge, a brutality without purity behind it. Damus had feared what it might mean, and now this, the secret vessel of his lord's needs being sent away to create - to create such a thing— Megatron walked casually over to him and settled his hands on Damus' hips, his EM radiation washing through his servant's field with a deep intimacy that made Damus' spark shiver in bliss. "For this work, I need someone loyal, someone willing to follow any order for the sake of my Cause. And you have proven yourself to be so _creative_ in the past when it comes to causing suffering. I need that innovative cruelty to make this facility become what it needs to be." 

Damus' fuel was ice in his lines. He had never once thought of himself as _cruel._ Not one bolt in his frame craved or delighted in the pain of others for its own sake. He had done all that he had done for one purpose only. "I hurt you because I love you," he said, honesty stripped bare in confusion. 

"And now I want you to hurt others in my name." 

"Why would I hurt Autobots when I care nothing for them?" 

"Of course I want you to care only for me." Megatron leaned in further and pressed a lingering kiss against Damus' mask. The servant's horror over his orders was being rapidly eroded by the familiar devouring obedience. "I want you to make my enemies suffer out of hatred. I want you to hate them every moment of the day and bend your brilliant mind to their torment." He kissed Damus again. "Such is the will of my Cause." 

Damus nearly dropped the datapad as his arms fell loose at his sides, all resistance lost. "As you command," he said, and tipped up his chin as Megatron began kissing his neck cables. 

"Now...I want your mouth on me." 

Damus fell to his knees and said nothing more. 

He took the assignment, and the name _Grindcore_ became synonymous with _Hell_ in the mouths of their enemies. Out of love for his absent lord, he struggled to learn deeper hatreds and richer depravities. He dismissed guards whose spirits were insufficiently twisted for the work that he demanded, peopling his kingdom only with those whose brutality, truthfully, surpassed his own. He collected other brilliant minds who, unlike him, delighted in torment, were cold to suffering, and were therefore endlessly inventive when it came to creating new and more agonizing devices. 

Damus fought to stay sane and realized that he could not, not in the way that he understood sanity. It would need to be abandoned for the sake of the Cause, in service to the love that still drove him. The first time he drank another mech's innermost energon he laughed and laughed at the thing that he had become before purging his tanks so hard that he nearly blacked out. But he learned. He was always learning. He developed many... _habits_ to help make the learning easier for himself. 

The _teleportation chamber_ had been his own elegant solution to the sentio metallico shortage, and his lord commended him for his creativity. He made himself watch through the window-wall of his office every time they smelted the living, trying to kill the tender horror that still clung stubbornly to his spark. 

He had changed a great deal by the time his lord summoned him away from the prison, but his loyalty remained undying. He felt his spark settle inside of him in a way that it had not for millennia as he sank to one knee before his lord's throne, displaying his devotion before the eyes of his beloved once again. 

"Damus. My most faithful one." The ferocity had long ago overtaken the selfless nobility that had once characterized the leader of the Cause, but Damus never wavered. He hated the weakness that made him unable to fully embrace his lord's new ways. "Do you remember, long ago, when I was weaker than I am now, when I would ask you for punishment?" 

"Yes, Master." Those times had been filled with such purpose, a pure, clean-burning love that Damus missed desperately. His lord was long past such needs, however. 

"I remember that when I asked you for such things, I felt as if I was serving a kind of _justice._ Justice demanded that I suffer. Justice needed to be satisfied for me to feel whole again. But whose justice was I serving in those days, I wonder, when the Cause itself was more just than anything else? Whatever serves the Cause can be nothing but justice. Do you agree?" 

"Yes, my lord." He had felt that those times with his master _had_ served the Cause by purifying its leader, driving out the doubt and pain that clouded his spark and made him less willing to do what must be done. That had always been Damus' purpose - to help his master remain clean of everything that was not his true and shining self. 

"Have you heard that there are Decepticons who wear my brand but do not truly serve my Cause?" 

"I have, Lord." How that knowledge had maddened him, the news of spies, liars, and traitors who refused to make themselves into vessels of a greater truth! Damus had been willing to suffer as those monsters had refused to suffer. He was not perfect himself, but he fought daily to reach that pinnacle. Why were so many others incapable of doing the same? 

"You once said that you hurt me because you loved me. Do you love my Decepticon Cause, Damus?" 

"Completely, Master." 

"Do you love my Decepticons enough to hurt them, in order to keep my Cause pure of everything that would hinder it?" 

"...I would, Master." 

"They and I are one, Damus. As I once asked you to punish me, now I ask you to punish all the millions of Decepticons. Cleanse impurity wherever you find it among them and excise everything that cannot be saved. There is no one else that I would entrust this work to apart from you. Will you accept it?" 

Damus was trembling, his spark alight with joy and purpose in a way that he had not felt in all of his thousands of years at Grindcore. He felt himself changing, becoming again the person that he was when his lord demanded punishment; he plunged deep into the familiar warmth of that place where violence was kindness and cruelty was love. He imagined being in that place forever, becoming nothing but that tender justice, a loving and merciless hand raised against every Decepticon who lived. It thrilled through him, sweeter than any climax and extending on into the infinite future. "Gratefully, my lord." 

"Then rise, Tarn of my Decepticon Justice Division." 

And the title/name settled on him as comfortably as his own armor - a word that was the new creature that he had become. _Tarn_ , the first loyal city, the collective wave of millions of sparks who first rose in devotion to the Cause. It signified the death of Damus, the annihilation of the old as if he had cast himself into his own smelter. He stood, feeling how the weight of the change settled throughout his frame. 

Above him, he heard the sound of modesty panels transforming back. He looked up and saw Megatron spreading his legs as he sat on his throne. Between them, his uncovered valve gaped, the petals stretched so plump and wide that they had to have been painful behind his armor. Oil dripped freely from them, puddling on the seat below. 

Tarn's spike warmed inside of him. "How would you like it, Master?"

**Author's Note:**

> \- I like this one better than my first one because I love my sad purple tank child and want him to be cared for and respected.  
> \- I still feel very weird about Damus' pre-Decepticon nickname being “Glitch” because that sounds like a pretty serious slur.  
> \- I think that Tarn loves snuggling but Megatron doesn't really, so Tarn has to sneak cuddles in where he can get them.  
> \- Everybody please write more Service Top Tarn fics so that this wonderful revolution can spread!! :D


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